


Checkup

by lockheed_london



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockheed_london/pseuds/lockheed_london
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for this prompt on the Cabin Pressure prompt meme on DreamWidth: http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6625.html?thread=12437473#cmt12437473</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh God, I've finally done it, if I wasn't going to the special hell before now then this is the story that's sending me _straight_ there...

Douglas shifts on the hard plastic chair and, for what feels like the fiftieth time since they arrived, curses the NHS. He’s being unfair, he knows. The staff have been nothing but polite and helpful to them since they got here for Martin’s appointment, but all the same he has to grit his teeth and quash the impulse to march up to the desk and demand that someone see them _now_.

In a private clinic they would surely have been whisked straight into the consultation room by now, and it would only be a matter of minutes before they’d be safely on their way home. Instead they’re sat here under flickering fluorescent lights, surrounded by tired-looking omegas with their toddlers, bored teenagers whose music is faintly audible through their headphones, and the occasional alpha. These last are casting stern looks at Martin, doubtless disapproving of him being out and about in his condition, and Martin shrinks in on himself under the unwanted attention. Douglas tightens the arm he has around Martin and glares at one particularly draconian-looking old alpha.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs to Martin. “Close your eyes and rest your head on my shoulder, and it’ll be our turn before you know it.”

Martin complies, although his fingers don’t stop plucking nervously at the sleeve of the overlarge jumper he’s bundled himself into, trying to smother his natural scent under layers of wool and cotton. It’s not really working, although Douglas is willing to admit that this may be simply because he’s more attuned to Martin’s scent than others would be. And especially _now_ , of all times…

It was an unpleasant fact about omega biology that the internal examination – that all sexually active omegas were advised to undergo annually – could only be done at the start of heat, when their internal vaginal opening was relaxed enough to permit it. The only other option was a hormone pill to mimic the effects of early heat but the side effects were such that very few chose it, hence the need for them to be here, with Martin bundled up in a shirt and thick jumper rather than at home, stretched out naked in Douglas’ bed.

It was at the end of his last heat that Martin – flushed and still faintly sweat-damp and glowing with heat hormones – had turned to Douglas and made a rueful face as he said he ought to schedule a check-up.

“I’ve not had one in ages. I’ve not needed them, what with taking suppressants for so long,” he said, while Douglas stroked the lovely dip at the base of Martin’s spine. “But if we’re going to be doing…” he gestured between them, “you know. I probably ought to book myself in.”

“Of course.” Douglas put on his most supportive expression. Being out in the early stages of heat went against every instinct an omega possessed – or an alpha, for that matter. Some omegas found it comforting to have their alphas with them, while others wanted only to be left alone and then coddled when it was all over, and Douglas stayed silent and waited to see which way Martin would go.

“Could you… might you come with me?” Martin faltered. “Would that be okay? I wouldn’t ask, really, but it’s been a bit of a while and I–”

“Of course I will,” Douglas said instantly, running his hand back up Martin’s spine to grip his nape briefly. “Whatever you want. I’m pleased you asked.”

That had been two months ago. Since then Martin had rung around several local practices to find one with an omega doctor who had a free appointment; he utterly refused to see an alpha and Douglas stayed silent on the matter. Quite apart from it being none of his business, he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t relieved at the knowledge that he wasn’t going to be required to tolerate another alpha touching Martin in the early stages of his heat. Even in a professional context, for the benefit of Martin’s health, it made Douglas’ hackles rise just to think about it.

Now Douglas tightens the arm he has around Martin, cuddling him closer into his side, and turns his head to kiss Martin’s hair.

“Not long now,” he murmurs. “You holding up okay?”

Martin only nods silently, his face turned into Douglas’ shoulder, and Douglas rubs his side. Martin tends to be easily upset during heat and Douglas can’t imagine that it’s much fun to be here, awaiting an intrusive medical procedure when he’d rather be at home in Douglas’ bed.

At last the screen at the end of the room beeps, showing Martin’s name and a room number, and Douglas nudges Martin gently.

“Here you are.”

Martin sits up and inhales deeply before seizing Douglas’ hand.

“Come in with me,” he says fretfully. “Please.”

“Of course,” Douglas says instantly, squeezing Martin’s hand and getting to his feet. As well as being high-strung Martin also tends to be clingy, and Douglas keeps a firm hand in the small of Martin’s back as they walk along the corridor to the consulting room.

Dr Holton is a tired-looking omega with kind eyes, who immediately apologises for running late. His demeanour puts Martin slightly more at his ease, as evinced by the loosening of the muscles of Martin’s back under Douglas’ hand, and Dr Holton runs through the standard questions about Martin’s general health, sexual health, and current birth control with a reassuring competence. The only part that raises an eyebrow is when Martin replies, “Twelve years ago,” in response to Dr Holton’s query about the date of his last exam.

“I’ve been on suppressants,” Martin says, a defensive note creeping into his voice and making Douglas shift protectively in his seat next to him. “I didn’t come off them until we started…” he gestures at Douglas awkwardly, “…um. About six months ago now.”

“I see.” Dr Holton notes something on the computer. “Good to know.”

“That won’t cause any problems, will it?” Martin wants to know, a little anxiously, and Dr Holton looks back at him with a touch of surprise before smiling reassuringly.

“No, not at all. They’re designed to be taken long-term, remember. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Now then.” Dr Holton stands. “Why don’t you nip behind the screen and get undressed and I’ll just get what we need for the next part.”

“Right.” Martin stands, his grip a vice on Douglas’ hand, and Douglas stands also.

“Alright if I…” Douglas asks Dr Holton, tilting his head towards the screen and laying his other hand on Martin’s back, and Dr Holton nods immediately.

“Of course, yes, go ahead.”

“Thank you,” Douglas says, a touch taken aback.

He had been prepared for more surprise from Dr Holton, but the man only quirks an eyebrow and says, “Oh, you’re by no means the first. Many omegas find it very comforting to have their alphas with them; we usually recommend it, if at all possible.”

It’s all rather different from his day; when his daughter was born Douglas had been politely shunted out of the room to wait in the corridor, and he shuts up and follows Martin behind the screen.

Once there, Martin immediately strips off his heavy jumper with an expression of distaste that Douglas can sympathise with. The surgery is rather warm; poor Martin must be absolutely boiling under there and Douglas takes it off him as Martin tugs at his shirt to get some cooler air next to his skin. Martin smells _divine_ now, as he always does during his heats. If they were at home then Douglas would already have him half out of his clothes, but now he only grits his teeth and kneels silently in front on Martin to begin working at his bootlaces.

“Lift your foot,” he murmurs, and when Martin rests a hand on his shoulder to obey Douglas slides his boot and sock off, tapping the other ankle when he’s done.

He stands up, away from Martin’s toes curling against the cool lino, and finds Martin working at his belt and zipper. His expression is taut, and Douglas can’t help resting a hand on his side, stroking a little, and murmuring, “Just this last bit to go, and then I can take you home.”

“Yes,” Martin agrees, and then bites his lip as he slides his jeans and underwear down and off. Douglas takes them to put on a chair, needing a moment to pull himself together. He’s already half-hard just at the smell of Martin, and he has to take a deep breath and remind his body that this is not the time or the place, that this is about supporting _Martin_ , and not his own wants.

“Douglas.”

Douglas turns back around. Martin has hopped up to perch on the edge of the table; he picks nervously at the tissue paper covering it and his body tilts towards Douglas slightly. Douglas steps back toward him, and Martin reaches for him, pulling him into a hug when Douglas is within range.

“Alright?” Douglas murmurs against Martin’s hair as Martin nuzzles into his chest, and Martin nods wordlessly while Douglas rubs his back. Douglas hugs him close, and tells himself sternly to stop thinking such inappropriate thoughts about his omega sitting there half-naked and wet and increasingly desperate for something in him.

The door opens and shuts, and Martin jumps in Douglas’ embrace.

“Are you ready?” Dr Holton asks from the other side of the curtain, and Martin pulls away from Douglas and calls, “Yes.”

“Right then.” Dr Holton comes around the curtain and smiles kindly at Martin. “Let’s get this over and done, shall we? And then you can get yourself home.”

Martin pivots around, swinging his legs up onto the table, and Dr Holton guides him to shuffle down and position his feet in the stirrups, handing him a length of tissue paper to drape over his hips so he doesn’t feel quite so exposed. He positions Martin’s legs for better access; up and splayed wide apart and, after checking that Martin is comfortable, draws up a stool to sit between them while Douglas swallows hard against a sudden rush of jealousy.

Douglas is deeply thankful for Martin’s decision to choose an omega doctor; even in the interests of Martin’s health, and in a bid to be as helpful and supportive as he could possibly be, Douglas couldn’t have stood there with equanimity while another alpha – or even a beta – sat between Martin’s splayed legs and squirted lubricant on their gloved fingers.

“Take a deep breath for me, Martin,” Dr Holton says and Martin nods, his hair rustling against the tissue paper on the bed as he inhales obediently.

The next instant he gasps sharply at the press of Dr Holton’s fingers into him; Douglas’ stomach lurches uncomfortably, but before he can move Martin is already muttering apologies and Dr Holton is waving them away.

“It’s fine, you’ve nothing to apologise for. I’m just going to check you’re open enough to proceed to the next part.”

“Alright,” Martin murmurs, licking his lips and his hands resting on his stomach.

Douglas sees Dr Holton’s forearm flex and twist, and then Martin gasps, “Oh Christ,” and Douglas’ attention snaps back to him.

“Martin,” he says helplessly, his insides twisting in an unpleasant mix of fierce protectiveness and concern, but Dr Holton interrupts him.

“Tell me if there’s any discomfort.” His tone is clinical but not unkind, and Martin shakes his head again.

“No, just… um… just a bit sensitive, is all. Sorry.”

“That’s fine, perfectly normal.”

Dr Holton’s gaze goes distant and unfocused, obviously concentrating on what he’s feeling with his fingertips over what he’s seeing, and God, Douglas knows exactly what he’s feeling. The soft, yielding opening into the vaginal canal that only opens up during heat and that Douglas has felt enough times himself, although generally with Martin’s thighs trembling on either side of his head and Martin’s cock hard and straining in his mouth. Exquisitely sensitive, it’s located just above the heat gland – so-named because it swells and grows more responsive during heat – and Douglas’ fingers are just long enough to dip inside it and tease Martin.

Much as Dr Holton is doing now, in fact, and the knowledge that it’s inadvertent doesn’t do anything to stop the vicious curl of jealousy that makes Douglas’ guts clench. He’d agreed to come along for Martin’s sake, out of a desire to be supportive, but he hadn’t counted on the effect it would have on him and he swallows hard.

But the tight, ugly spiral of his thoughts is interrupted when Martin whimpers, “Douglas,” and Douglas looks at him. His eyes are squeezed shut, his face drawn tight; his hands are white-knuckled where they’re clutching at his shirt, and when Douglas reaches out to touch his forearm tentatively Martin immediately loosens a hand to reach blindly for him. Douglas catches Martin’s hand in both of his, squeezing reassuringly, and his heart contracts a little when Martin lifts their joined hands to rub his cheek feverishly against Douglas’ knuckles.

The knot in Douglas’ chest loosens at the reminder that _he’s_ the alpha Martin wants, the one he seeks comfort from, and Douglas gently frees a hand to stroke Martin’s hair back off his forehead.

“Easy, darling,” he murmurs. “You’re doing marvellously well, just hang in there.”

“Right.” Dr Holton pulls back; he doesn’t look to be anything but gentle but all the same Martin gives a strangled noise, his legs jerking in their wide splay. “Looks like you’re fine, so let me just get this ready.”

He turns away and Douglas hears the crinkle of him unwrapping a disposable plastic speculum. Martin hears it too, and his face pinches in distress as he glances down at what Dr Holton is doing.

“Don’t look,” Douglas says desperately, as Martin’s grip tightens on his hand and Martin swallows hard. “Martin, darling, don’t look, look at me instead.”

“I…”

“ _Martin_ ,” Douglas says, in his firmest voice, and at last Martin drags his eyes up to meet Douglas’ gaze.

“You’re alright,” Douglas murmurs, sliding his fingers into Martin’s hair and brushing a thumb back and forth over his forehead. “You’re going to be okay.”

Martin makes an uncertain noise and Douglas says, in a rush, “You can stop any time you want. Honestly, just say the word and I’ll have you out of here and–”

“No.” It hasn’t escaped Douglas’ notice that Dr Holton has stopped moving but, conversely, the offer seems to strengthen Martin’s resolve and he swallows. His expression pulls into something more determined. “No, I’m fine, let’s get this over with.”

“Alright then,” Douglas says. And then, to distract Martin from the click of the dispenser of medical-grade lubricant, he adds, “Tell me about that landing we had in Montpellier the other week. The one with the crosswind.”

“It was strange.” Martin smiles in remembrance, looking for a moment almost like his normal self. “It’s usually so nice to land there, no rain or frost to deal with, but that was–”

He stops with a gasp, tensing, and Douglas glances down to see Dr Holton with both hands between Martin’s legs.

“Try to relax if you can,” Dr Holton says, firm but kind. “I know it’s difficult.” He glances at Douglas and adds, with just a touch of dryness, “You too.”

Douglas looks back at Martin, forcing his hand not to clench but to carry on stroking Martin’s hair in long, soothing sweeps. Martin is relying on him to be steady and calm; Douglas is no use to him if all he can contribute are more nerves to exacerbate Martin’s own, and he pitches his voice to be low and reassuring as he tells Martin that he’s fine, that there’s nothing to stress about.

All his good intentions go out of the window the next instant, however, when Dr Holton starts to push in. Martin’s back arches slightly, his head tilting back to bare the beautiful long expanse of his throat, and his grip on Douglas’ hand tightens until Douglas’ knuckles grind painfully against each other. His face pulls into an agonised expression; he can’t seem to find a full breath and Douglas eventually says, “Martin, breathe.”

Douglas gives their clasped hands a little shake, trying to capture Martin’s attention, and Martin chokes out, “A minute, just give me a minute.”

Douglas can’t quite stop himself glaring at Dr Holton but he’s already stopping.

“Tell me if there’s any discomfort,” Dr Holton says. “Or if you’d like something to make this easier.”

Douglas knows what he’s implying: many omegas chose to take a mild, fast-acting sedative to make the experience a little more tolerable and, little as he likes the idea of Martin drugging himself up to get through this, it’s really not his call to make and he stays silent.

But Martin – delightful, stubborn bastard that he is – shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. Just… need a minute.”

Astonishingly, there’s a dull creep of colour up his throat as he speaks but Dr Holton only smiles kindly.

“Don’t worry about it. Nothing I’ve not seen before as part of the job, after all.”

And then Martin reaches down to tweak the paper draped over himself and Douglas realises that Martin is hard under there; if he looks he can see Martin’s cock fully erect and lying against his belly with a damp spot at the head where he’s started to leak.

Douglas bites back a groan with an effort. As if this wasn’t going to be difficult enough to get through already.

“Go on,” Martin says, his voice hoarse. “Carry on.”

Dr Holton glances back down; Douglas hears the click of the speculum opening and Martin’s eyelids flutter closed as he turns his face to nuzzle at Douglas’ hand.

“Nearly done.” Douglas resolutely turns his back on Dr Holton, ruthlessly making himself pay attention to Martin and ignore the small rustles of activity behind him. “Not much longer now, you’re nearly done.”

He clasps Martin’s free hand and brings it up to this mouth to press a chaste kiss to the back of it as Martin rubs his face against Douglas’ other hand and moans quietly in his throat.

“Please try to keep still, Martin,” Dr Holton says gently from behind Douglas. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s not a good idea to move around with one of these in.”

Martin has a particular little squirm of his hips that he does when he’s impatient to be fucked; Douglas should know, he’s seen and felt it enough times in their bed, and it drives him wild each and every time. He’s so hard by this point that his jeans pinch uncomfortably but it must be ten times worse for Martin, and Douglas can only pat Martin’s stomach uselessly as he tries to work some saliva into a dry mouth.

He doesn’t feel as though he’s being much use at all, but Martin opens his eyes and blinks up at him as he murmurs, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Douglas manages a smile. “I’m glad you asked me. You shouldn’t have to do this alone if you don’t want to.”

“Even so.” Martin smiles tremulously at him, and squeezes his fingers briefly. “I’m glad you–”

“I’m going to take it out now,” Dr Holton says, behind Douglas. “Deep breath.”

Martin inhales deeply and nods, but then he catches his lip between his teeth as his face screws up and Douglas can’t help but glance over his shoulder to see Dr Holton drawing it smoothly down and out of Martin’s body. Taking it out seems to be even worse than putting it in; Dr Holton has to stop several times to remind Martin to keep still as his heels kick fretfully in the stirrups and by the time he’s done Martin’s temples have a faint sheen of sweat and his fingernails dig into the back of Douglas’ hand.

Martin sucks his lower lip between his teeth and lets it pull free slowly; it’s one of Martin’s tells during sex, when he’s really into it and about ten seconds from dragging Douglas down for a kiss, and Douglas rubs his thumb over Martin’s knuckles silently.

“Just the digital exam left, and then you’re done,” Dr Holton says, and Martin puts an arm over his face. “Would you like a moment before continuing?”

“No.” Martin’s voice is muffled under his arm. “No, just do it.”

Dr Holton makes no reply. Martin sounds almost at the end of his tether, and Douglas grits his teeth. He knows what Dr Holton is going – a brief check of Martin’s prostate and heat gland. It doesn’t have to be done during heat but it’s more efficient to do it now, as it saves the necessity of a second visit, but Douglas has problems focusing on that, when all he can see is Martin laid out and looking like he’s being tortured. Martin’s mouth falls open at the first wet noise of Dr Holton’s gloved fingers pushing into him and he takes his arm away to press his mouth hard against Douglas’ fingers, silencing himself.

It seems to take an impossibly long time for Dr Holton to finish. Martin doesn’t make a sound throughout, but after a few moments he turns his face into Douglas’ hand and, shielded from view by the bulk of Douglas’ body, takes one of Douglas’ fingers into his mouth. Douglas almost groans aloud himself at this but bites the inside of his cheek and stays silent through sheer effort of will, and lets Martin mouth blindly at his fingers and grip Douglas’ other hand until he starts to lose the circulation in his fingers.

Martin is incoherent by the time Dr Holton finishes; he makes no reply to Dr Holton’s mild, “There. Done,” and his face is drawn tight enough that it looks almost as though he’s in pain.

“Martin,” Douglas says gently, trying to rouse him, but Martin only makes a noise in the back of his throat and presses his face harder against Douglas’ fingers. Douglas glances down and sees that the paper draped over Martin’s hips is wet where he’s been leaking, so much so that Douglas would think he’d come if he couldn’t still see the outline of Martin’s cock hard and unsatisfied.

“I have to say that was much faster than I’d anticipated,” Dr Holton says, pulling off his gloves and dropping them in the bin. “My next appointment isn’t scheduled for a while yet, I’d allowed far more time than we apparently needed.”

Martin makes no reply to this either, and Dr Holton gives him a sympathetic look before ducking out from behind the curtain.

“Martin.” The sounds of splashing comes from the tiny sink in the corner as Dr Holton washes his hands, and Douglas bends down to kiss Martin’s forehead. Martin’s skin is faintly salty against his lips, and Douglas repeats Martin’s name in a whisper. “Martin. Come on, darling, it’s done, let’s go home–”

“Oh God,” Martin gasps, so softly, and the paper on the bed rustles as his hips shift. “God, I need to… oh God, _Douglas_ –”

“I know,” Douglas murmurs, cradling Martin’s face in his hands and kissing his forehead, his cheekbones. “I know, now let me take you home.”

Faintly Douglas hears the rattle of Dr Holton making notes on the computer as Martin’s breath ghosts shakily over his fingers, and after a short while he stops and says, “I’m just off to parcel up the sample for dispatch. I’ll be about fifteen minutes; there are some plastic cups by the sink if you’d like some water.”

The door has barely shut behind him before Douglas extracts himself from Martin’s grip – hushing him gently when he makes a distressed noise – and goes to turn the lock. He also takes a moment to open one of the upper windows, pre-emptively airing the room for what he has in mind, before returning to Martin’s side to catch one of his hands and kiss it.

“Martin,” Douglas says, his voice low but urgent. “Martin, look at me. _Look_.” he squeezes Martin’s hand for emphasis and Martin’s eyelashes flutter and open.

“Do you need to come before we leave?” Douglas asks bluntly, and Martin bites his lip in embarrassment even as his cock throbs visibly under the paper.

“Oh, I couldn’t. Not… not _here_ , we couldn’t, it would be terribly–”

“Oh yes we can,” Douglas says determinedly. He’s had just about all he can stand of Martin lying there and getting increasingly wound up with no relief, and even as Martin demurs he squirms and his thighs strain to tilt wider in their splay.

And so Douglas strokes a hand over Martin’s hair and says, “Do you really think it takes fifteen minutes to put a plastic container in a padded envelope and stick an address label on it? He’s giving us a bit of time alone.”

“Oh.” Martin bites his lip, looking flushed and more embarrassed than ever. He picks at his shirt buttons; as well as embarrassed he’s also starting to look more than slightly desperate. Douglas can’t bear to see it, it makes him frantic to do something to help, but he wouldn’t be much of an alpha if he didn’t pay attention to Martin’s wants and so he leans down to kiss Martin’s forehead gently and murmur, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, you know that. But I thought it might help.”

“Yes,” Martin says. “Yes, oh God, please–”

With no more encouragement than that Douglas is there, leaning down to give Martin the filthiest kiss he can manage as Martin moans softly.

“You’re going to have to be quiet,” Douglas murmurs, in between little bites to Martin’s lower lip.

Martin tends to lose some of his inhibitions during heat sex, and usually Douglas is all too glad to encourage him but not on this particular occasion.

“I know,” Martin pants, hips already starting to shift. “I know, I will.”

“And take your shirt off,” Douglas says.

“Oh, I’m not sure we’ve got time for–”

“You’re going to come,” Douglas says, almost growls. “Two or three times, if I know you at all. And skin is easier to clean than cloth.”

Martin’s fingers almost stumble in their haste to undo his shirt buttons, and Douglas tugs the draped length of tissue paper away. Martin’s cock looks almost painfully hard, flushed dark with blood, and Douglas bends down to kiss Martin again as he trails his fingers up it. Despite Martin’s promise to be silent Douglas isn’t entirely convinced he’ll be able to do it, and he wants to be close enough to smother Martin’s noises with a kiss should it prove necessary.

“Don’t tease…” Martin pants, pulling the sides of his shirt wide and grabbing at Douglas’ wrist to push it away from his cock and down between his thighs. “Fuck me, oh God, _fuck me_.”

Douglas almost groans when his fingers slide down between Martin’s buttocks. Martin is obscenely wet, and he arches and gasps as Douglas presses the pads of his fingers to Martin’s hole. Douglas doesn’t linger. There’s a time for tender, teasing touches that drive Martin slowly out of his mind, and it’s not now: Martin has already been driven half-mad, and now Douglas only wants to bring him some relief. So he slides his fingers up inside Martin, flexing and twisting them and making sure to rub heavily against his prostate and heat gland, and Martin’s eyes flutter closed as he bites down hard on his lower lip.

Martin must be closer than Douglas had thought; when Douglas’ fingers dip inside the opening of the vaginal canal Martin grabs at his cock and after a few brisk pulls on it he shoves his forearm against his mouth as he tenses and comes. His body flutters rhythmically around Douglas’ fingers, and Douglas keeps fucking him through it while his other hand strokes Martin’s hair. One will barely take the edge off, Douglas knows from experience, and so he waits until Martin has stopped shaking before kissing his forehead and murmuring, “Ready for another?”

“Yes.” Martin’s face is flushed, and he catches Douglas’ hair and drags him down for a kiss. “Fuck me this time.”

“I can’t,” Douglas says, trying to soothe Martin with kisses. “Darling, I can’t; if I do then I’ll want to knot you and we don’t have time for that.”

Martin gives a little moan, and Douglas kisses him once more before moving down to stand between his legs. After being fucked, Martin’s second favourite thing when in heat is Douglas’ mouth; Douglas flatters himself that he’s excellent at oral sex and Martin’s enthusiastic appreciation would certainly seem to back this up, and he leans down to pull Martin’s erection into his mouth, using every trick he knows to get Martin off again.

But after Martin has come for the second time – hands clutching at Douglas’ shoulders in time with the surges of his cock in Douglas’ mouth, and heels pressing hard into the stirrups – he twists his face away and gasps something.

Douglas kisses the inside of one of Martin’s quivering thighs, easing his fingers out to rub gently at Martin’s hole. “What’s that?”

“God, I wish you could fuck me,” Martin half-sobs, his body twisting restlessly on the table. “I know why you can’t, but _God_ …”

His words trail off, his hips already starting to fidget, and Douglas presses his face to Martin’s leg, feeling helpless.

“Martin–”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I know you can’t.”

Martin flings an arm over his face and reaches down to palm himself again, and Douglas bites his lip and considers. Martin asks for so little that Douglas hates to refuse him anything when he _does_ venture a request; they really don’t have time to be tied together until his knot goes down, but even so perhaps there’s a way that they might…

Douglas leans up, wiping his hand roughly on the discarded length of tissue paper before stripping off his shirt. Martin’s chest and stomach are smeared with his sweat and come, and Douglas has no more desire to be hastily cleaning it out of his own clothes than Martin’s.

At the clink of Douglas’ belt buckle Martin’s eyes open and he blinks at Douglas.

“What… what are you…”

“What does it look like?”

Douglas shoves his jeans and underwear down around his thighs. He’s been hard ever since Dr Holton left them alone together, and he grunts with relief as the pressure on his groin eases.

“But…” Martin’s eyes are wide with shock. “We can’t, we don’t have time to–”

“Let me worry about that,” Douglas interrupts him, and steps forward until his cock pushes between Martin’s buttocks. “Do you still want this?”

“ _Yes_.” Martin reaches for him frantically. “Yes, yes, yes–”

Douglas lets himself be pulled down into a kiss as he leans forward and pushes into Martin. Martin pulls his mouth away to gasp for breath as Douglas enters him, and at Douglas’ first thrust he gives a moan. It’s louder than Douglas would like, and he guides Martin’s face to nuzzle into his throat, giving Martin somewhere to silence himself. Martin takes the opportunity gratefully, and presses his mouth hard against Douglas as Douglas starts to fuck him.

Martin’s knees come up to clamp tightly against Douglas’ ribs and he claws at Douglas’ back; Douglas kisses his hair and closes his eyes and takes deep breaths, trying not to think too hard about the slick, tight squeeze of Martin’s body around his cock. The top third of his cock is sliding up into Martin’s internal vaginal canal, stimulating him and sending Martin half-mad with pleasure, for he whimpers faintly with each of Douglas’ heavy thrusts.

It’s not long at all before Martin’s whimpers stop, and he tenses briefly before convulsing beneath Douglas, his knees digging into Douglas’ ribs and his noises stifled against Douglas’ skin, and Douglas kisses his hair and thinks, _That’s one._

That was fast enough that chances are Martin will be able to go one last time before he’s completely done, and Douglas pauses for a moment to collect himself before starting to move again. Martin grabs Douglas’ arse at this and mouths at Douglas’ throat, slurring encouragement between tiny choked-off moans.

As well as being loud Martin also has a tendency to nip at whatever bit of Douglas is closest when being fucked during heat; usually Douglas doesn’t mind this – he even rather enjoys looking at the tiny marks Martin sometimes leaves, and teasing Martin about them – but he’s no desire to face Dr Holton with evidence on his throat of what they’ve just done and he cradles Martin’s head in his hand and gently guides Martin over towards his shoulder.

“Come on, darling,” he pants. Orgasm is starting to gather in his hips and behind his balls, but Martin is shaking and almost frantic under him and Douglas wants to get him off once more before he succumbs himself. So he shoves a hand between their bodies to fist Martin’s cock, rubbing his thumb steadily over the head while keeping up a flow of obscene encouragement in Martin’s ear, and a few moments later he’s rewarded with the mild sting of Martin’s teeth in his shoulder as Martin shakes and comes again.

Douglas’ own orgasm is _right there_ , and almost before Martin has finished he pulls out and starts tugging at his own erection. He wraps his hand around the base, where his knot is starting to thicken, and squeezes tightly. The discomfort isn’t enough to kill his arousal, though, and he grabs the discarded wad of tissue paper and crams it against the head of his cock as he starts to come. He leans heavily against Martin’s leg as he soaks the wad of paper, gritting his teeth against the rush of pleasure, and drags in a deep gasp of air when he finishes, keeping his hand tight around the base of his cock until the pressure of his knot starts to subside.

Douglas waits until his legs stop shaking, and resists Martin’s attempts to draw him down into a cuddle in favour of cleaning himself off roughly with a fresh length of paper torn from the roll. Douglas scrubs at his groin and tucks himself back into his jeans with a grimace of discomfort, before pulling his shirt back on and tucking it in with brisk, efficient movements. Coming has left him loose-limbed and the slightest bit shaky, but he forces himself to be calm and competent, because he reckons they only have about five more minutes left and Martin is still looking an absolute mess.

In contrast to his own almost rough haste, Douglas is very gentle as he wipes a dampened wad of tissue paper over Martin’s chest and down to his groin, catching Martin’s hands when he paws weakly at it and gasps that it’s cold. The hot tap of the sink will produce only a tepid trickle, certainly colder than the temperature of Martin’s flushed and too-hot skin, and Douglas follows it with a clean, dry bundle of paper. He wipes away the mess of lubrication that Martin has been leaking, gripping Martin’s thigh steadyingly when Martin squirms and moans in protest and arousal, and then bins the bundle of used paper before guiding Martin’s legs out of the stirrups and coaxing him to swing them over the side of the bed and sit up.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs, as Martin grasps his offered hand and sits up. “Let’s get you dressed, and then we can go.”

“Y-yes.” Martin nods vaguely, looking a little disoriented. Douglas can’t blame him. Biology dictates that right now Martin should be settling in for a long sleep, in order to conserve his strength for the rest of heat, with Douglas curled around him and keeping watch. Instead he’s obliged to be awake and focussed, and Douglas cups his face briefly before ducking out from behind the curtain. He silently slips the lock on the door – the embarrassment of Dr Holton returning to find it still locked lacks a certain subtlety, to Douglas’ mind – and when he returns he finds Martin doing up his shirt with stumbling fingers.

There is a stack of heat pads on the small shelf next to the table, and Douglas grabs one, unwraps it, and presses it inside Martin’s underwear. Martin is properly in heat now; when he hops down from the table Douglas can see that the paper where he’s been sitting is already damp. Douglas kneels to help Martin step into his underwear and jeans, sliding them up his legs and fastening his jeans at his hips, and looks up in surprise when Martin catches his hands.

“Thank you,” Martin says quietly. “For… for everything. Thank you.”

Douglas stands and kisses Martin’s forehead, overcome by a sudden wave of tenderness for him. “Not at all. I’m glad I was here for you.”

The moment is broken by the faint sound of footsteps in the corridor and Douglas hastily flings the curtain back, so that when Dr Holton enters he sees nothing more untoward than Martin leaning against the table with Douglas kneeling at his feet to help him on with his socks and boots. Douglas tries his hardest to look every inch the concerned, doting alpha – not at all the sort of alpha who could be cajoled into fucking his omega on an examination table, although the open window is rather a giveaway and Dr Holton is presumably not an idiot.

Douglas finishes Martin’s boots and stands, hands itching to reach for Martin as he shakily pushes himself off from the table and takes a few steps over to Dr Holton.

“We’ll write to you with the results in six weeks or so,” Dr Holton says, brisk and efficient. “You’re otherwise in perfect health so, results aside, I shouldn’t see you for another year.”

“Right,” Martin says. Douglas picks up Martin’s jumper from the chair and comes to stand next to him, arguing briefly with himself before resting a hand in the small of Martin’s back, and is charmed when Martin immediately moves to lean heavily against him.

“Do you have any questions?” Dr Holton says, as Douglas unobtrusively slides an arm around Martin’s waist.

“Yes.” Martin licks his lips. “Do you… is there perhaps a side exit we could use? I don’t really want to walk back through the main room with… you know.”

He gestures at himself, and Dr Holton nods at once.

“Of course. Just follow me, I’ll let you out the side door.”

Dr Holton leads them out of the office and along the corridor to a fire exit door; Douglas is half-expecting an alarm to go off as he pushes it open but none do, and after saying their goodbyes he and Martin are alone outside the building.

“Oh my goodness.” Martin turns to him with a relieved sigh, stepping in close for a hug as Douglas instantly responds. “Thank God that’s over for another year.”

“Mmm.” Douglas squeezes him tightly, as he’s wanted to do for the past half-hour, and rubs his face against the crown of Martin’s head. “Come on, then. Let’s go home.”

And, unexpectedly, Martin growls, “ _God_ , yes,” in his throat and reaches down to grab Douglas’ arse, making Douglas sway a little and wonder how fast he can drive home without getting pulled over for speeding.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens once Douglas gets Martin home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief follow-up bit to the original, after several kind and encouraging people commented on the meme to say that they'd be interested in such a thing.

Martin, despite his shameless groping of Douglas in the car park, falls asleep on the drive home, his head tipped back to rest on the headrest and his face relaxed and beatific in sleep.

Martin had needed to call around several clinics before he found one with an omega doctor specialising in omega sexual health, and the drive home is almost long enough for him to sink from a light doze down into proper sleep. Certainly it’s long enough that Douglas feels horribly guilty when he pulls up outside his house and has to put a gentle hand on Martin’s shoulder to wake him.

“Martin.”

Martin’s head lolls toward his hand, Martin smiling faintly in his sleep at the sound of Douglas’ voice, and Douglas tries not to sound like too much of a besotted idiot as he tries again. “Martin.”

At last Martin’s eyes flicker and open. “Mmm.” He stretches a little, smiles at Douglas. “Are we home?”

“Yes,” Douglas says, cupping Martin’s face briefly and quashing the possessive thrill that comes from hearing Martin call his flat “home”. Martin’s in heat, and it doesn’t pay to take any heat-ridden declarations or opinions too seriously, Douglas has learned. “Yes, we are, we’re here.”

Douglas gets out of the car as Martin yawns hugely, and goes around to open Martin’s door. He has a strange, almost irresistible urge to sweep Martin up in his arms and carry him in, as though Martin were incapable of walking, but the thought of Martin’s face at such a gesture makes him pause. Instead he merely holds out a hand as Martin unfastens his seatbelt, and Martin grips it and allows Douglas to pull him up. Martin sways a little on his feet, not entirely awake yet, and Douglas steadies him as he leans in to grab Martin’s jumper off the back seat.

They stumble up to Douglas’ flat together, and Douglas unlocks the door and ushers Martin in. It’s slightly disconcerting that Douglas hadn’t quite realised the magnitude of Martin’s apprehension about his appointment; clearly Martin is more capable of masking his emotions than Douglas has ever given him credit for, because now that it’s over Martin is loose-limbed with relief and he nuzzles into Douglas’ chest with a sigh of happiness as Douglas shuts the door and turns to draw him into a hug.

“Into the bedroom with you,” Douglas tells him, trying to sound as though he’s joking. “I have _plans_ for you.”

Of course it’s up to Martin, and if he digs his heels in then Douglas will be ready to change his tune. But there’s a deep, nameless thing inside Douglas that’s fixating on the fact that he hasn’t properly knotted Martin yet: the brief, truncated session in the surgery isn’t anything like a proper knotting and has served merely to heighten Douglas’ awareness of what he’s yet to do. It’s stupid. It’s nothing but alpha possessiveness, brought on by the dictates of age-old instincts from when they were all living in caves, and when anyone else even approaching the den during the omega’s heat was perceived as a threat. But knowing that he’s thinking with his hormones doesn’t do anything to make the urge less compelling, and Douglas kicks the bedroom door shut behind them once they’re both inside.

“Let me,” Douglas says, nudging away Martin’s hands when he starts to undress himself and taking over.

Martin is wearing one of Douglas’ shirts; he’d not asked if he could borrow it but had arrived at breakfast wearing it. When Douglas had pointed this out Martin had flushed and looked away and made to leave the table to go and change, muttering that he must have made a mistake when he was getting dressed, and Douglas had quickly caught Martin’s wrist and purred something to the effect of how good Martin looked in it. Inwardly he was kicking himself. Martin was no more likely to make a careless mistake about that than he was about anything else, and even if he hadn’t been paying attention to whether he picked the shirt out of his overnight bag or the wardrobe – as Doulas hadn’t yet got around to inviting Martin to keep some spare clothes at his flat – then the way the collar gaped at his throat would have been clue enough.

Now Douglas unbuttons the too-large shirt, pressing an absent kiss to Martin’s shoulder when it slips and bares a pale expanse of skin.

“Mmm.” Martin lets Douglas work, but lifts his hands to start on the buttons of Douglas’ shirt. “Thank you for coming with me. I really did appreciate it.” His eyes sparkled wickedly. “Even before you fucked me on the exam table.”

Douglas exhales through his nose, feeling his cock start to thicken at the memory.

“You’re such a terrible influence on me,” he says instead, nudging Martin to sit on the bed and sinking to his knees to work at Martin’s boots.

Martin laughs a little. “ _I’m_ a terrible influence on _you_.”

“Yes.”

Boots successfully off, Martin draws his knees up and shuffles backwards until he can lie back against the pillows, hands starting to work lazily at his belt and a look in his eyes that makes Douglas strip off the rest of his clothes in short order.

“Perhaps you’d better teach me the error of my ways, then,” Martin says, as Douglas climbs onto the bed. His eyes drop to Douglas’ cock, flushed and already hardening again, and his lips part in a way that Douglas would find utterly distracting if he weren’t so focused on working Martin’s jeans and underwear open and down his legs.

Martin plants his hands on the bed and lifts his hips so Douglas can work the fabric under his arse and down his legs, and Douglas groans a little when he sees that Martin is wet again, his boxers soaked.

“That sounds like a perfect plan,” Douglas says distractedly, leaning away to drop the bundle over the side of the bed as Martin’s knees open.

“But what if I’m too tired?” Martin asks, all faux-innocence even as he slides a leg around Douglas’ hips and tugs lightly. “You’ve worn me out.”

His words strike a guilty chord in Douglas. Martin’s face is bright and smiling as he looks up at Douglas, but Douglas is acutely aware that Martin hasn’t had the long, refreshing sleep that he ought to have had after their session earlier and he can’t help but pause in his caresses.

Martin laughs a little at the expression on his face, mis-reading Douglas’ thoughts.

“I was only teasing,” Martin says, and lifts his other leg to curl around Douglas’ waist. “Come on.”

“No,” Douglas says. They should at least change to a position that will demand less effort from Martin, but as he pulls back a little Martin’s smile dims and his face quivers with the slightest hint of rejection. That’s not a look that Douglas has ever wanted to see on the face of a bedmate, and certainly not on Martin, and he cups his hand under Martin’s calf to lift it and press a kiss to his kneecap.

“Come on now,” Douglas says gently. “What sort of alpha would I be if I made my exhausted omega do all the work during heat?” Without waiting for a reply he dips down lower to nuzzle kisses into the soft, vulnerable warmth of Martin’s stomach, and withdraws to grip his hips. “Turn over.”

With a certain amount of rearranging of limbs, Martin rolls onto his front and lets Douglas shift and position him until Douglas has him exactly as he wants him: with a pillow cushioning his head and one stuffed under his hips (covered with a hastily-fetched towel, after Martin resisted and pointed out “We have to _sleep_ on that”). Douglas nudges Martin’s thighs wider and shuffles closer to him, and Martin wraps both arms around his pillow and rubs his cheek against it in anticipation.

Douglas takes himself in hand and pushes blindly against Martin’s hole, exhaling heavily at the pleasure of it and encouraged by Martin’s breathy murmur of approval. On the second try the head of his cock catches on Martin’s hole and he sinks in slightly; Martin groans softly at this, and Douglas takes his hand away to brace his forearms on the bed and lean down to kiss Martin’s nape. He tries to keep his weight off Martin’s back but his stomach ends up resting on Martin’s lower back, although from the way Martin moans appreciatively and pushes his hips up towards Douglas he doesn’t seem to have any complaints.

Douglas nuzzles the soft hair at Martin’s nape as he thrusts slowly, gently, and Martin shifts his thighs wider and twists his head to moan his approval to Douglas. Thanks to the truncated session in the surgery earlier Douglas’ orgasm builds quickly until he’s gritting his teeth with the effort of not coming but Martin, in contrast, takes a long time to come. He probably isn’t ready for another proper session yet, not really; by rights he should be asleep rather than having sex again, even if he does cant his hips up into Douglas’ thrusts and make all sorts of appreciative noises.

Finally, when Douglas can’t take any more of such exquisite torture, he pulls out and shifts to lie next to Martin, coaxing Martin to roll onto his side with his back to Douglas’ chest. Martin goes, relaxing trustingly into Douglas’ arms and turning his face for a kiss when Douglas runs his lips lightly along the side of Martin’s throat.

“Let’s try it like this,” Douglas says, and Martin murmurs his acquiescence as Douglas pushes back into him.

This is far better. Like this Douglas has better access to Martin’s nipples, and his cock, and he ignores his own arousal in favour of focussing on Martin. He teases Martin’s nipples and strokes his cock, until Martin’s breathing starts to quicken and he arches restlessly in Douglas’ arms.

“That’s it,” Douglas mutters, kissing Martin’s shoulder encouragingly and then pressing his open mouth to Martin’s skin as Martin tightens around him. Douglas is so close it’s hard to keep moving and so he pushes himself as deeply as he can and stills while focussing on Martin.

“ _Oh_ ,” Martin grinds out, at last, and Douglas gasps, “Yes, that’s it, _come on_.”

Martin’s fingers tangle in the sheets as his mouth opens, and Douglas presses his face to Martin’s shoulder as his knot starts to swell. He’s almost there, his orgasm so close he can _feel_ it, and he moans loudly as Martin tightens harder around him. Douglas had desperately wanted to get Martin off before he came himself but that isn’t going to happen; he’ll have to focus on Martin after–

But at that moment – as the pleasure coiled tightly in Douglas’ groin crests and breaks – Martin gives a loud, unrestrained moan and the hand that Douglas has clutched tightly around his cock is abruptly wet and slick. Douglas presses his cheek to Martin’s skin and shudders through his first climax, trying weakly to keep his hand moving on Martin’s cock as Martin whimpers “Oh… oh… oh…” with each weak pulse in Douglas’ grip.

Martin’s climax is brief, almost perfunctory, and – while Douglas is gasping in the wake of his first orgasm – he reaches down to gently push Douglas’ hand away. Douglas grips Martin’s hip instead, resting his forehead against Martin’s shoulder, and tries to remember how to breathe as his body starts winding up towards his second orgasm.

Martin gives a little moan of sheer pleasure, and Douglas squeezes his eyes shut. Simultaneous orgasms during heat almost never happen; usually the omega would have come several times before the alpha begins to knot them. But no wonder they’re made so much of in alpha porn: the sound of Martin’s pleasure in his ears as Douglas’ hips bucked and he came inside Martin was something that would stay with him.

Douglas’ second orgasm rolls through him, temporarily stealing his breath, and when he focuses again he gathers Martin to him almost greedily. Martin’s head lolls against his pillow; his eyes are half-closed and he suddenly looks dreadfully tired, although he rouses and tries to respond to the gentle kiss Douglas brushes over his shoulder.

In the previous heats Martin had seemed content to lie quietly while Douglas knotted him; Douglas had originally taken it for mere quiet contentment but now he wonders whether Martin had actually been fighting sleep without Douglas noticing.

“I think I’m losing you,” Douglas whispers in Martin’s ear, tracing his sticky-wet fingers lightly over Martin’s stomach, and Martin rouses.

“No, you’re not,” he murmurs, blinking his eyes open determinedly and looking at Douglas. “Look, I’m awake.”

But Martin’s eyelids look so very heavy that Douglas imagines the mere fact of being awake is costing him a tremendous effort, and he smiles at Martin affectionately.

“You should sleep if you want to,” Douglas says, his hands not stopping in their lazy petting of Martin’s stomach and hips. “It’s fine.”

“No, no.” Martin shakes his head.

He looks _embarrassed_ about his sleepiness, and Douglas nuzzles his hair before saying, “Lots of omegas do, you know. In fact I’m sure I read an article about it not long ago: it’s something about the hormones triggered by prolonged pressure on the lubrication glands, combined with oxytocin. Almost impossible to resist, although I can’t help but notice that you’ve been doing an excellent job of it to date.”

“Well…”

Martin is visibly struggling, sagging against Douglas like a rag doll, and Douglas brings his clean hand up to Martin’s face to ghost his fingers across it, wordlessly coaxing his eyelids closed.

“Go on,” Douglas says softly, as Martin gives a hitching sigh and the last bit of tension drains out of him. “I’m here. Now go to sleep.”

Almost before Douglas has finished speaking Martin is still and quiet against him, his lips slightly open and his breathing soft and regular, and Douglas nuzzles Martin’s nape affectionately and curls himself closer around Martin, settling in to keep watch.

***

Martin’s check-up brings out Douglas’ possessive side, for that heat, and he can’t seem to keep a check on his actions. Or rather, he _can_ , but it’s such an effort to do so that he slips up more often than he succeeds.

Thank goodness Martin is so happy to indulge him. Now that the worst is over he’s almost _limp_ with relief and has nothing but smiles for anything Douglas wants to do, so great is the release of nervous tension.

Douglas takes a greedy delight in fussing over Martin, and spoiling him to the point that if Martin were a different sort of omega then he’d become a holy terror: demanding and imperious. But as it is Martin _knows_ him, and knows what Douglas is like; the thought is comforting enough that Douglas feels free to follow his instincts.

When Martin rouses, Douglas runs a bath for them both and persuades Martin to lounge back against his chest as Douglas washes him down gently. Afterwards Douglas bundles Martin into his favourite pair of pyjama bottoms and one of Douglas’ T-shirts and steers him out to the sofa, telling him to choose something to watch while Douglas prepares food.

If Martin hadn’t already picked up on the fact that Douglas wasn’t _quite_ so sanguine as he was pretending about the notion of someone else touching Martin in early heat, the food Douglas produces would have tipped him off. When Douglas had been shopping for supplies to see them through Martin’s heat, Martin had already booked the appointment. Douglas knew very well that it was entirely ridiculous to feel anxious about it but all the same he found his hand straying to pick up the more expensive versions of the food he usually bought, and a few luxuries that he usually wouldn’t buy at all. Make no mistake, he loved the chance to spoil Martin slightly during heat, but Martin’s appetite was feeble at best and he rarely ate much unless Douglas pressed him.

Now Martin’s eyebrows lift as Douglas comes out of the kitchen and sits by him on the sofa. On the tray Douglas carries he’s placed a selection of small, tempting mouthfuls; nothing too large that will sit heavily on Martin’s stomach, each morsel s a mere bite or two and arranged in such an appealing display that they couldn’t fail to tempt even the most sluggish of appetites.

“Goodness,” Martin says, as Douglas pulls him close and shamelessly encourages Martin to curl into his side. “This looks amazing.”

“Good,” Douglas says. He chooses a slice of courgette with a generous smear of pate on top – the fresh crunch of the vegetable in perfect contrast to the intense richness of the pate – and holds it up to Martin’s mouth.

“No,” he demurs gently, moving his hand away when Martin reaches for it. “No, let me.”

Martin bites his lip a little but lets his hand fall, and leans forward. Douglas doesn’t try to feed it into his mouth, merely holds his hand still and let Martin take it delicately out of his fingers, and Martin crunches the courgette and licks his lips appreciatively afterwards.

“Wow.” His expression is slightly awed and something inside Douglas positively _crows_ with pride. “That’s delicious.”

“Marvellous,” Douglas says and reaches for a dainty twist of pastry, warm and savoury with cheese. “Now try one of these.”

This time Martin has barely swallowed before he catches Douglas’ hand to lick the crumbs from his fingers, and when he’s finished he presses a kiss to their tips. It’s gentle, almost devoted, and Martin’s breath tickles Douglas’ fingers as he murmurs, “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

Douglas knows it’s not just about the food and he cradles Martin’s face, sinking the fingers of his other hand into Martin’s still-damp hair, and contradicts him. “Thank _you_. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here, with you.”

Martin’s eyes close and one side of his mouth ticks up, as though he thinks it’s merely Douglas’ alpha hormones talking and not to be trusted, but no matter. Douglas will simply have to tell him again outside of heat, repeating himself if necessary until Martin is convinced.

***

The rest of that heat passes otherwise without incident. The delicacies that Douglas bought disappear from the fridge, fed to Martin as they curl together in bed or on the sofa and watch _QI_ repeats, and of course Douglas fucks Martin whenever Martin looks at him with that certain urgency at the back of his eyes, or runs a hand up Douglas’ thigh and grips just a bit too tightly.

On that occasion the end doesn’t come while they’re asleep, as Martin’s heats often seem to do. Instead it’s on the final morning: Martin wakes ready for sex, as he’s done for the past two mornings, but once they’re done he’s content to lie in Douglas’ arms and Douglas would swear he can _feel_ the change happening in Martin.

It’s almost like the tide turning before it goes out: at first it’s so slow that you’re not sure that it’s not just your eyes playing tricks on you, but gradually it gets increasingly certain until it’s utterly unmistakeable.

A few hours later, when Martin would perhaps just be starting to stir and get ready for another round, instead he stretches against Douglas and murmurs, a little shyly, “Do you maybe feel like lunch>”

“I do,” Douglas says equably, even as he inwardly heaves a sigh and bids a fond farewell to Martin’s heat for a couple of months. “Although not as much as you do, I’ll bet.”

“Those pastries were delicious,” Martin says, almost cautious, “but I’m not sure they’re quite going to… I mean, I’m really quite–”

His stomach gives a loud gurgle, and Douglas laughs at him and pulls him into an affectionate hug.

“I knew you would be,” he says in amusement, as his fingers wind through Martin’s wild bed-hair. “I have _seen_ your appetite post-heat, you know; this isn’t a new experience for me. And so that’s why, as well as those morsels you’ve been subsisting on, I also bought sausage, bacon, and eggs for a full English.”

Martin wriggles in Douglas’ clasp and gives a greedy little moan at that. He sounds _famished_ , as though Douglas has been keeping him in the cellar for a month and feeding him nothing but stale bread and water, and Douglas laughs at him. It satisfies some deep, primal part of him to see Martin clear away a portion of food that’s larger than Douglas’ own, and so he smoothes his hand fondly over Martin’s shoulder blades and opens his mouth to get Martin moving.

Except that, when he speaks, what comes out is not a teasing command for Martin to let Douglas’ up so he can take first shower and get going, but instead, “You should bring some spare clothes over for next time.”

Martin goes utterly still against him, before slowly lifting his head to look at Douglas.

“What?” he says faintly. “I mean, yes, that would be great. But also… really?”

“Really.” Douglas hadn’t intended to say it, or at least hadn’t intended to say it here and now, like this, but now that he has… “Yes, really. Only if you want to, though. I just thought it would be… you know. More convenient for you.”

It’s not an invitation to move in, it’s not even a _hint_ of such an invitation. It’s only the offer to clear some space in the chest of drawers, but Martin’s smile makes his eyes sparkle.

“Yes,” he says, and Douglas ruffles the hair at Martin’s nape and smiles back at him.

“Good.”

The day stretches out ahead of them with nothing to do but lie on the sofa, watch films, and devour a truly obscene amount of food. However Douglas feels, with Martin heavy on top of him and all but glowing with post-heat hormones and delight, that the day is already rather perfect just as it is.

**End**


End file.
